


Basket(ball) Case

by DulcimerGecko



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Basketball, Annoying, Basketball, Fluff, Gen, Little Brothers, Mathematics, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Whiny Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 13:51:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9074713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DulcimerGecko/pseuds/DulcimerGecko
Summary: Ever wonder how Sherlock's interest in basketball got started?  Set in MissDavis's 'Full Court Press' universe.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MissDavis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissDavis/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Full Court Press](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4989544) by [MissDavis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissDavis/pseuds/MissDavis). 



> I enjoy playing in other author's universes and MissDavis was kind enough to give me permission to play in hers when this particular plot bunny bit.

~*~

"BORED!"

Mycroft looked up from the maths text he was busy studying to the throw rug his little brother was laying on. Sherlock resembled nothing so much as an indolent cat, complete with the oversized eyes and boneless sprawl. The only thing missing was the tail. Mycroft knew better than to believe the pose. Sherlock could, (and would) go from 'stationary' to something approaching terminal velocity the moment something caught his interest. "Go bother Mummy," Mycroft ordered. "I'm sure she can find some chores to keep you occupied."

"She's gone to town, which is why I'm stuck here with you."

"Try reading a book, then," Mycroft replied absently, picking up his pencil to begin drawing out the equations he would need.

"I've read all of the ones in our library _twice_ already," came Sherlock's voice, muffled by the carpet.

"What about archery?"

"No arrows."

"Experimenting with your chemistry set?"

"Confiscated. And I'm out of ethyl alcohol fuel, besides."

"Oh, yes. The curtains," Mycroft said, his nose wrinkling in distaste at the memory of the smell. 

"I don't know _why_ Mummy was so upset," Sherlock complained in the tone of aggrieved children the world over suffering at the hands of incomprehensible adult behaviors. "She'd talked about replacing them for ages!"

"That may well be, but I don't think she appreciated your...shall we say, accelerated? timetable."

"Dull," Sherlock announced with a sniff.

Mycroft closed his eyes briefly, summoning patience. "What about practicing your violin?"

"I can't...not until I get a new bow."

"And what happened to your last one?" Mycroft asked slowly, knowing he wasn't going to enjoy the answer.

"Redbeard," Sherlock explained, referring to the messy, destructive Irish Setter puppy he'd convinced their parents to adopt.

"Well go play with Redbeard, then," Mycroft ordered, making a shooing motion with the hand that wasn't currently holding a pencil. "Mayhaps the two of you can wear each other out." 

"He's sleeping," Sherlock whined, flopping over onto his back and wiggling about like a just-landed _Thymallus thymallus_. "Entertain me, Mycroft! That's your job!"

Mycroft didn't quite roll his eyes as he abruptly stood up—it wasn't a seeming behavior for a thirteen-year-old boy who wished to be taken seriously by adults—but it was a close thing. He bent down and picked up the neglected orange sphere that had inadvertently sparked his interest in three-dimensional mathematics. "Follow me," Mycroft ordered, gently nudging his little brother's ribs with the toe of one of his highly-polished Oxfords. "I'm going to teach you a game."

Sherlock raised his head and glared at the basketball Mycroft was cradling. "What? No. Basketball is boring!"

Mycroft smiled thinly. "No, little brother, it isn't. You simply aren't paying enough attention. While it is rather physical—" and here, Mycroft failed to suppress a small moue of distaste, "—it nevertheless becomes a rather fascinating game with the proper application of mathematics." 

Sherlock gave him a blatantly disbelieving look.

"Come on," Mycroft said coaxingly. "Try it. If you don't like it, then we'll walk over to the library together and you can borrow a new entomology text." And hopefully not reduce some unfortunate staff member to tears. Again.

Sherlock brightened at that and pushed himself to his feet, following closely at Mycroft's heels as Mycroft led the way down the stairs and out to the metal basketball hoop mounted on the garage siding.

"Now," Mycroft began, "I presume you are already familiar with the basic principles of three-dimensional mathematics? X, Y and Z coordinates and so on?"

"I'm _six_ , Mycroft," Sherlock replied tartly. "Not _four_."

"My apologies, brother mine," Mycroft replied smoothly. "I was simply confirming your current level of understanding." Mycroft hefted the basketball, getting a feel for the weight and texture. It had been several years since he'd last manipulated one. "While the Tsiolkovsky rocket equations aren't the best fit, they nonetheless allow an individual to calculate the acceleration applied to the object—in this case, a sphere—the change in velocity and the necessity of factoring in wind resistance, distance, and gravity to ensure that the target is accurately placed. Watch." 

Sherlock's eyes opened wide as his older brother spun the orange ball once on the tip of his finger before launching it. The ball ricocheted off the backboard before dropping neatly through the net with a swish, before bouncing back to where Mycroft was waiting. "Now you try."

Sherlock took the ball and held it gingerly. Unsurprising; it was larger than his head. Sherlock gave Mycroft one last hesitant look before raising both arms and throwing the basketball as hard as he could at the net. 

It landed woefully short.

Mycroft pursed his lips, remembering what his father had said when Mycroft had first begun learning to play piano: acknowledge the effort, find something to compliment, offer a suggestion and then encourage another attempt. "Not bad for your first attempt. You didn't apply enough force; that is something that will come naturally with further muscle development, but you did aim it in the correct direction. I suggest stepping closer so that the ball doesn't have to travel as far and then try again…Watch," Mycroft continued, before neatly demonstrating the shot again. "See?" he asked, handing the ball to his little brother. "Now see if you can duplicate it."

Sherlock accepted the ball with the mutinous look, his eyes already narrowing in concentration. 

Three hours later, when Mycroft wandered back downstairs to get a fresh glass of water, Sherlock was still outside practicing throwing the basketball at the hoop with the single-minded determination that made him both the prodigy and bane of his teachers. Well satisfied, Mycroft returned upstairs. 

Hopefully Mummy wouldn't mind the constant sounds of dribbling.

~*~

**Author's Note:**

> *waves at all the lovely readers* I'm on Tumblr as ["DulcimerGecko"](http://dulcimergecko.tumblr.com/) if you want to point out a possible typo, or simply wander over and say "Howdy!"


End file.
